


The Journalist and the Scion

by ChillieBean



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Canon-typical tobacco use, Explicit Sexual Content, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, Joel Morricone, M/M, Mild Power Play, Scion Hanzo, Swearing, Undercover Missions, Yakuza Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 01:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14345487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillieBean/pseuds/ChillieBean
Summary: “This is the target.”A tablet is dropped in front of Jesse and he turns it around, shifting his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue. He speed reads the brief, the usual pre-mission background, but his jaw hangs on one word.“Shimada,” Jesse breathes, taking his cigar between his knuckles before it drops in his lap. “Finally making a move?”“Sure are,” Gabe answers, grinning as he leans back in his chair.





	The Journalist and the Scion

**Author's Note:**

> Scion Hanzo is a fucking blessing.
> 
> So this was originally going to be a pwp, but then story happened.
> 
> *throws confetti*
> 
> Also, the biggest thanks to Magisey as always for betaing!!
> 
> ~~I also suck at titles~~

“This is the target.”

A tablet is dropped in front of Jesse and he turns it around, shifting his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue. He speed reads the brief, the usual pre-mission background, but his jaw hangs on one word.

“Shimada,” Jesse breathes, taking his cigar between his knuckles before it drops in his lap. “Finally making a move?”

“Sure are,” Gabe says, leaning back in his chair. “Sojiro, head of the clan is dead—”

“Yeah, I caught the chatter. Hard to miss.”

“His son, Hanzo, is now in charge. Intel suggests he’s meeting with Akinjide Adeyemi.”

“And with Akinjide, comes Talon.”

“Yep,” Gabe says, leaning forward and tapping the corner of the tablet with his index finger. “At this stage, this is just a meeting. Might not lead to anything, but I’d bet that Talon have their sights set on the Shimada brothers, given their track record.”

Jesse hums, placing the cigar between his lips and taking a long puff. The Shimada empire has been in Overwatch’s sights for years now, but weren’t able to get close enough to prove Sojiro was breaking any laws—every scrap of evidence obtained by Overwatch at the request of the Japanese government to cut off the head of the snake was circumstantial at best.

Blowing out the smoke in a slow, steady stream from the corner of his mouth, he reads Hanzo’s bio. Nothing significant has changed since he last read it when curiosity got the better of him, except for the fact that one, he is now leader, and two, they’ve updated his picture. Gone is the babyfaced, clean-shaven hei, the Hanzo in the picture before him now is an older, bearded leader. His long hair, now no longer worn down, is tied back in a top-knot, save for the bangs on the right side of his face. A picture taken of his profile, eyes narrowed and lips pursed, the man looks dangerous and he ain’t even looking at the camera.

He continues reading, moving onto Genji. Like Hanzo’s, his profile is largely the same, but the photo is also different. He’s still got that mischievous look, that sly smirk, but his hair is now a garish green.

Both of them are possibly more dangerous now that Daddy is out of the picture.

He flicks back up to Hanzo's picture, really analyses it for any clues he can pick up from the image. Hanzo is absent his training gear in this picture, not that Jesse can see what he's wearing aside from the white collar of his shirt. Otherwise, there’s nothing. “When were these taken?”

“Couple of weeks ago. Day after the funeral.”

Jesse hums in acknowledgement, leaning back in his seat. “So what do you want me to do, jefe?” He takes another puff from his cigar.

Gabe smirks, and Jesse knows that one-sided smirk; something that he does when Jesse’s gotta get his hands dirty… and Jesse _loves_ getting his hands dirty.

“Calm down, Jessito, you’re not going in to kill them.” Gabe pauses, his smirk grows wider. Now Jesse is a little worried. “It’s an undercover mission. You know that journalist cover we’ve been building? Well, it’s finally ready to use.”

Jesse sits forward, claps his hands in excitement. “I’ve been waitin’ _years_ to get my Joel Morricone on!”

“With help from a man on the inside, we’ve got you an invitation to an exclusive party. The first event held by the Shimada-gumi since Shimada senior’s passing. A lot of bigwigs, booze, an exhibition wrestling match, the works.”

Jesse nods, taking a puff from his cigar. In his mind, he figures out how he wants to approach such an event. He’ll be himself, considering this is a new undercover identity with the intention of being reused and it’s easier to maintain in the long run if he’s not putting on a persona.

 _Really lay on that Southern charm_ , he thinks, smirking.

“Intel suggests that Akinjide will be there,” Gabe continues. “So, mission is: get close to Hanzo, get him comfortable, get him talking.”

Jesse hums, leans back in his seat and rubs his chin. “Hanzo don’t seem like the type to just talk.”

The smirk falls from Gabe’s face and he stares at Jesse deadpan. “Jesse, you can charm the skin off a snake. If anyone can get him,” Gabe looks at the tablet, “talking, it’s you.”

Jesse chuckles, taking the cigar between his knuckles as he looks back at Hanzo’s picture. If there’s one gift he picked up from his days in Deadlock, it’s how to effectively use his irresistible charm to get folks who usually don't talk talking. “All right,” Jesse says eventually, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table. “When do we leave?”

“Day after tomorrow. But now,” Gabe leans back and that one-sided smirk returns, “you’ve got a date for a suit fitting.”

* * *

Jesse sighs, leaning against the railing on his forearms. “Christ on a cracker, why’d it have to be so damn hot?”

_“That’s monsoon season for you.”_

“And ‘course I’m wearin’ the absolute _worst_ thing.” Why he agreed to wear a damn suit with a leather jacket in the middle of a humid Japanese summer is beyond him.

_“Easy, Jessito, don’t want to attract unwanted attention.”_

Jesse rolls his eyes, stands up straight and scans the floor below. “I know how to speak without movin’ my mouth.” He pauses, tips his hat at the couple who walk past and give him a good look down. “Used to put on quite the ventriloquist act as a kid.” Jesse smirks when he hears an exasperated sigh on the other end of the comm, and he tones it down immediately; there’s a time to joke and a time to be professional, and the last thing he needs is to be caught grinning like a damn fool with no one around.

_“You got eyes on the target?”_

Jesse sweeps the room as he walks along the catwalk towards the stairs. “Naw, not yet. But the match hasn’t started yet.” He proceeds down and through the crowd of gathering people around the ring towards the bar. “Bourbon,” he says to the bartender as he sits, swiping his credit chip against the reader when the drink is placed down.

Picking up his glass, Jesse turns in his seat, looking through the crowd. He doesn’t expect either Shimada to stay down here, not amongst this mass of people. He casts his eyes back up to the second floor, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, not even a closed-off section of seating for VIPs. He brings his glass to his lips as he says, “We sure the intel is correct,” before taking a sip.

 _“It’s foolproof. Overwatch haven’t been wrong before.”_ There’s a short pause, an almost inaudible hum. Jesse can practically see Gabe bringing a hand up to his mouth; something he does when he’s thinking. _“There’s still time, if he hasn’t shown by the end of the match, we’ll re-evaluate.”_

“Mmhmm.” Jesse takes another sip of his drink, looking at his watch. Only fifteen minutes 'til the exhibition match.

 _Fifteen minutes before I charm the pants off Hanzo_.

He silently chuckles, pushing _that_ thought aside as he drinks the rest of his bourbon in one gulp. Setting the glass on the bar, Jesse gives the bartender a hat tip and proceeds outside for a smoke, groaning when the muggy Tokyo air hits him in the face like a truck. He thought inside was bad; outside is worse, especially now that it’s raining again. He lights up a cigarillo and takes a long drag, going over in his mind how he wants to approach Hanzo. It’s not like he has a plan, it’s hard to devise one when he doesn’t exactly know how Hanzo will respond. He’s never met the man; Hanzo might be standoffish, give Jesse one long, hard look and deem him not worthy of his time.

_Or he could look you up and down, undress you with his eyes and lead you upstairs to a room—_

Jesse closes his eyes and takes a _long_ drag. There’s something about the way Hanzo looks now that’s got his brain scrambled; leaving him with endless, distracting thoughts of fucking him—ranging from rushed and semi-clothed, bent over various pieces of furniture to slow and gentle in bed.

Or maybe it was the initial implication of the mission: get in, get close, get information through…

“Jefe,” Jesse says, low and quiet as he exhales the smoke.

_“What is it, Jessito?”_

“You want this information by any means necessary?”

A long pause. Jesse takes another drag from the cigarillo, rolling it between thumb and forefinger as he slowly exhales the smoke, waiting for a response. Heavy rain roars on the roof above, the thick, suffocating humidity hangs in the air; which does nothing but make it hard to breathe and cause Jesse to sweat like a pig.

_“As long as you don’t get yourself discovered or killed, anything goes.”_

“Got it.”

_“And it goes without saying, but you are not to harm him in any way.”_

Jesse hums, turning around to look through the windows into the crowded room. Shit, Jesse bets that if he hurt Hanzo in any way, accidental or intentional, Hanzo would _make_ him apologise for it. He’s got that look about him, that deadly look of a leader, of a killer. A man who has seen the life fade from the eyes of fuck-knows-how-many people.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he takes one final drag from his cigarillo. If there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s that for whatever damn reason, that very thought is a turn on.

With a silent chuckle, he stubs out the cigarillo on an ashtray and heads back inside. He pulls the collar of his shirt away from his neck as he opens the door and prays that the combination of smoke, cologne and antiperspirant masks his body odour.

The blast of cooler air is a relief, but now he is completely mindful of the sweat on his brow. Lowering his hat and keeping his head down, he makes a beeline for the men’s room. Upon entering, he can hear someone talking in a stall. A one-sided conversation in Japanese, someone on a phone, and Jesse can’t help but listen as he approaches the urinal; both through a combination of understanding it and the comm translating it for him.

_“He’s upstairs.”_

_“Yeah, once he’s done I can finally fuck off.”_

_“Got to keep up appearances. We have to look strong because all eyes will be on us.”_

Jesse slowly unzips his pants and relieves himself. There’s a long pause, and he wonders if the conversation is over, if the person hung up because the room isn’t empty anymore. He repeats that final statement in his mind and he can’t help but feel a pang of anxiety, wondering if that is perhaps Genji in there.

 _Keep up appearances… look strong._ _Does that imply infighting?_

Jesse starts when the person in the stall laughs, and is completely thankful that he didn’t make a mess on himself.

_“Fuck, I can’t fucking wait until I’m balls fucking deep inside you.”_

Jesse holds his breath. He shouldn’t be listening to this conversation, but it’s not like he can’t _not_ listen. Voices echo off the tile in these rooms. So does the sound of his seemingly endless piss against the ceramic.

_“Thirty minutes max."_

_“See you soon.”_

Another pause, and Jesse’s finally done, tucking himself back into his pants and zipping them up. He heads to the sink, the urinal self flushes behind him, and he places his hat on the counter as he washes his hands before splashing his face with water. Flicking his hands in the sink, he takes the opportunity to give his armpits a good sniff, content that he doesn’t smell too bad.

Hearing the stall open from behind him, he casually reaches for the paper towel dispenser, drying his face. He hears the click of shoes on the tile approach, and by the time they’ve pulled up beside Jesse, he’s drying his hands and scrunching up the paper. He looks at the man through the mirror, eyes instantly drawn to his green hair. Years of training, both with Blackwatch and Deadlock, have conditioned him not to outwardly react. He gives Genji a nod before turning his attention back to himself, fixing a few stray strands on his forehead before placing his hat back on his head.

“American?”

Jesse looks at Genji and smirks, tipping his hat. “Sure am.”

“Oof,” he winces, “can your accent get any thicker?”

Frowning, Jesse retorts, “Sorry bud, can’t say I notice my accent.”

Genji chuckles, looking Jesse up and down slowly. Perhaps sizing him up? “I know someone who’ll love _this_ ,” he says, waving his hand in Jesse’s direction. “I’m gonna tell him. You might just find yourself lucky tonight, _cowboy_.”

“Lookin’ forward to it,” Jesse says with another tip of his hat. He turns on his heel and leaves the men’s room, hoping Genji is referring to Hanzo, ‘cause that’ll make contact with him a helluva lot easier. If not, then he’s got a challenge on his hands. The last thing he needs is to fight off someone while trying to get close to the man.

Scanning the lower floor once more before heading back for the staircase, he checks his watch. Only a couple more minutes before the match starts. The crowd is gathering around the ring, a chorus of excited voices fill the room.

Eyeing the staff member at the foot of the staircase, he gives them a curt nod, placing a hand on the banister.

“I’m sorry, sir, upstairs is off limits.”

Jesse takes back his hand, tips his hat. “Of course,” he drawls, taking a step back. He looks at the bar before approaching it again, glancing upstairs for the barest of moments and seeing Hanzo looking down at him. With a split second decision to either ignore him or capitalise on the fact that he’s got his attention, Jesse decides that acknowledging his presence is the way to go.

Slowing his pace, he looks fully at Hanzo. He carries an air of confidence, arrogance even when just looking down from above. Jesse notes that he is dressed more appropriately for the weather in just a shirt, waistcoat and trousers. The matching cobalt blue from the tie and waistcoat pop against his charcoal suit, and Jesse didn't think he'd see anyone who looks so damn good dressed up like that.

Jesse also takes great pleasure in how said suit hugs his body, showing off his very attractive figure.

Grinning, Jesse winks, tips his hat with one hand and rests the other on his belt buckle. Hanzo’s response is a single raised eyebrow, but otherwise, his face remains neutral. Jesse then casts his eyes back on the bar and walks at his usual pace. If he’s lucky, he’s planted the seeds for Hanzo to approach him. If not, then Jesse’s got his work cut out for him.

With a sigh, he takes a seat at the bar. The bartender looks at him and he nods, a silent acknowledgement that he’s after another bourbon. He swipes the credit chip to the reader and when the drink is poured, he brings it up to his lips, saying, “You catch all that, jefe?” in a low voice before taking a sip.

_“Sure did. Was that the brother?”_

“Mmhmm.”

_“He’s got a bit of an attitude, doesn’t he?”_

Jesse silently chuckles, taking another sip. All of the lights with the exception of the ones above the ring dim. The room quietens and an announcer stands in the centre of the ring.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Shimada Tower. Your gracious host, Shimada Hanzo has quite the treat for you.”

The room erupts in applause and Jesse uses the opportunity to continue his discussion with Gabe.

“Upstairs is off limits.”

_“Did you see the target?”_

“Sure did,” Jesse says, looking at the alcohol in his glass. The announcer continues on, introducing the first Japanese fighter which has the crowd going nuts. “I think the brother might have been talkin’ about him in the men’s, so I fired a little warning shot.” Jesse can’t help but grin. “The ball’s in his court now.”

The announcer then introduces the second wrestler, who gets a bigger cheer than the first guy. He steps in the ring, throws his hands up in the air before staring the other guy down.

“Who are these two, anyway?” Jesse asks as the first guy approaches the second and gets up in his face.

_“Two of Japan’s most famous wrestlers. I guess it’s safe to assume that they’re on the yakuza’s payroll.”_

Jesse hums as the referee makes a show of taking more effort than required to separate them. They stand in their respective corners of the ring as the announcer counts down to the start of the match.

_“Keep me apprised. Enjoy the match, check in after. We’re ready to charge if shit goes down.”_

“Got it, jefe.”

The match itself is about what Jesse would expect for an exhibition match. They dance around each other, hold back on doing any major damage. Then, when one strikes the chest of the other, Jesse’s sure this is where shit’ll get real. But no, they spend a good five minutes taking turns using their whole arm to slap each other on the chest. And it isn’t fake either. Jesse might not have front row seats, but he can see the spray of sweat under the lights with each hit, and the angry red welt forming from the abuse. The announcer reaches levels of excitement Jesse didn’t think possible for a human being as they go back and forth, before exhaustion sets in and one _finally_ drops the other. Jesse's on his third bourbon and thoroughly confused when it’s done, and braves the humidity for another smoke and some peace and quiet.

He groans the second the smoke fills his mouth, leaning against the railing on his forearms and hanging his head down. He closes his eyes and focuses on the pattering of rain on the roof; a constant noise even though it’s much lighter than earlier.

_“Report.”_

“Match is over. Gonna give him a few and head back in.” He opens his eyes and brings the cigarillo up to his lips, adding, “I reckon the meeting happened before the match.” He takes a drag, turning around and falling into one of the seats.

_“You're probably right, Jessito. Take a breather, then get in there and work your magic."_

Jesse hums, taking another drag from his cigarillo. He only has a moment’s peace before he sees one of the waitstaff approaching, eye squarely trained on him. “Got company,” he says quietly when the door opens.

“Excuse me, sir,” the waitress says, holding the door open, a polite smile on her face. “Your presence has been requested. If you would please follow me.”

“Sure thing, darlin’,” Jesse says cheerily, taking a final long drag from his cigarillo. A coded message, ‘darlin’’ is one of many cues to signify radio silence.

He looks at the glowing tip of his cigarillo and a part of him is annoyed that he won't get to finish this, but if Shimada himself has requested his presence, then there's nothing he can do about it. At least he hopes it’s a summons, not an escort out of the building. He stubs out the cigarillo on the ashtray as he exhales the smoke, standing up and following the waitress.

Keeping his eyes hidden under the shadow of the brim of his hat, Jesse approaches the stairwell, and he hazards a look at the spot Hanzo was standing as he climbs the stairs, not seeing him there. In any case, ‘cause he knows Hanzo’ll be looking from _somewhere_ , he makes a point to exaggeratedly swish his hips on each step.

Standing on the landing, the waitress extends an arm and Jesse takes a moment to look around. In the quick time he had his drink, had his smoke and went to the bathroom earlier, this upstairs area was transformed into an observation deck. Four empty seats are opposite Jesse, providing prime viewing for the ring below, and a bar with an expensive selection of alcohol is set up to the left. He looks at the waitress almost quizzically and she merely bows before proceeding back downstairs.

With a sigh, he approaches the bar. He looks at the alcohol, _really_ seeing some expensive stuff. Refusing to believe for a second that he ain’t being watched and knowing he’ll probably be judged by what he picks, he just goes with safe. “Bourbon.”

He doesn't see a chip reader, so he cautiously picks up the drink when it’s poured, holds it up to the waiter in a silent toast before taking a sip, revelling in the high quality of this bourbon compared to the stuff they're serving downstairs—which might as well be bottom shelf compared to this.

Jesse catches the faint smell of cigarette smoke and he peeks over his shoulder. In the shadow of the corridor, Jesse sees the glow of a cigarette illuminating Genji's face. He wiggles his eyebrows and when he takes the cigarette between his fingers, Jesse can see someone beside him. Genji turns to his side, brings the cigarette up to his mouth again and takes a drag, and Jesse can see the profile of another man: bangs on one side of his face, hair tied up neatly, the blue from his waistcoat.

Hanzo.

Jesse looks back at his drink and waits for them to approach him. It isn’t long, but Jesse senses their eyes on him well before he feels the hand on his shoulder.

“Cowboy, I want to introduce you to the person I told you about. He’s twenty-six, likes long walks in the rain, sake, probably likes having his dick sucked, but who doesn’t!”

Jesse looks up at Genji, seeing his grinning face looking back at him.

_“Fuck, this one runs his mouth.”_

“Can’t argue with that,” Jesse chuckles, finishing the rest of his drink. It’s not like Gabe to break radio silence like this; Genji must be getting under his skin. He places the empty glass on the bar and sees Hanzo slide into the chair beside him, shooting daggers at his brother.

“All right, I’m done,” Genji replies, cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he holds his hands in front of him. He takes a final drag before dropping the butt into Jesse's empty cup, blowing the smoke from the corner of his mouth as he places a hand, not only on his shoulder, but on Hanzo’s, leaning in between them. “You kids have fun now!” he says with a sly grin and a wink before walking away. Jesse watches as Genji heads back the way he came, disappearing down the corridor.

“Brother?” Jesse asks, playing coy.

“Yes,” Hanzo grunts, staring at Jesse’s glass. He looks at the bartender and gives a curt nod, and two sake cups and a jug are placed on the bar. Hanzo waves his hand and the bartender takes Jesse's empty glass, places it somewhere behind the bar before he bows and leaves downstairs. Jesse looks around and in that moment he realises they’re alone. “Hanzo,” he introduces himself, handing Jesse his cup.

“Joel,” Jesse responds, taking the cup from Hanzo with his left hand, extending his right. “Joel Morricone.”

“I am aware,” Hanzo states, shaking Jesse’s hand. He’s got a strong grip, which isn’t entirely a surprise. “The guest list was exclusive, seeing the name of an American blogger on there caught my attention.”

“Well,” Jesse starts, giving the sake a smell before taking a sip, “I’ve got friends in high places.”

Hanzo looks at him through narrowed eyes before taking a sip of his sake. With the other hand, he loosens his tie and undoes the first button of his shirt. There is a stretch of silence, and Jesse looks back behind him, to the four seats set up.

“Tough night?” Jesse asks, fishing for information. This’ll decide how easy or hard his night will be.

“Something like that,” Hanzo answers vaguely. He looks into the cup, drinking the rest of his sake before pouring himself more. “I assume you are here to discuss my father’s untimely death.”

“There isn’t much out there that ain’t already public knowledge,” Jesse says. He sets the cup on the bar and slides his phone out of his pocket. “I want to talk about you. The son, the heir who became CEO of not only the largest hotel chain, but also the most used private security company in Japan.” Jesse opens the recording app, presses record and places his phone on the bar too.

“I fear my story will be too sordid to publish.” Hanzo looks from the cup to Jesse, flashing a dangerous grin. “ _If_ I allow you to publish the story.”

“The public have every right to know what’s happened in this here hotel tonight. I can paint a picture of a lavish lifestyle, how Shimada Hanzo hosted the cream of the crop of Japanese celebrities, business associates and government officials. I can even write how both similar and different that wrestling match was to American WWE.” Jesse turns in his seat, facing Hanzo and picking up the sake cup, adding, “Or, I can tell your story. The eldest son raised in his father’s shadow, what his life was like growing up, how he plans on stepping out of said shadow. Your father was in control of the business for thirty years. He’d been running it for five by the time he was your age. You’ve got some big shoes to fill.”

Hanzo whips his head around and narrows his eyes. “You know _nothing_ of my life.”

“Door’s open,” Jesse says, looking at his phone.

Hanzo looks from Jesse to the phone, then to his cup. He downs the lot of sake once again. “Write your fluff piece,” he says bitterly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He opens his mouth as if to say something before huffing. “Anything I have to say with regards to the way I conduct business will _not_ be said in front of a recording device.”

Jesse suppresses a smirk, reaching for his phone and stopping the recording. “Off the record, then.”

Hanzo looks at Jesse sceptical, and Jesse makes a point to turn off his phone, even handing it to Hanzo so he can inspect it. Hanzo takes his time analysing it, turning it over a few times to check for anything which seems out of the ordinary—which for all intents and purposes it is just a phone—before placing it back down on the bar. “If one single word of what I have to say makes it out to the public, I will have you, your family and your friends killed. Am I clear?”

Making a note to be convincing and show just a little bit of terror, he nods slowly and swallows. “Okay. But why trust me?”

“Because I need someone to talk to who is not going to just agree with me out of fear.” Hanzo makes a point to study Jesse’s face; long, lingering stares analysing each little feature from his eyes to his chin. Jesse makes it a point not to come across as too intimidated. He might be a journalist in disguise, but _this_ journalist has balls. “And I can see you do not fear me, Mr. Morricone.”

“No offence,” Jesse says, grinning and pushing his luck, “but I’ve seen people more intimidating than you.”

Hanzo chuckles, reaching for the sake jug and pouring more into his cup. “I highly doubt that.”

“Warlords, Mafia bosses, IRA, you name it. People who have killed, who strike deals with terrorists. I know a bit about your life, I know that you do more than run a business.” Jesse’s eyes flick down to Hanzo’s covered left wrist. “I know that you’re yakuza.”

“That is not something we keep hidden,” Hanzo says immediately. He unclasps the cufflinks on his left sleeve, rolling it up to halfway up to his forearms before reclasping them and repeating the process on the right. Jesse studies what he can see of the tattoo, and this close he can see the intricate detail of the design; something that Overwatch’s pictures don’t do justice. “Like what you see, cowboy?”

Jesse’s eyes flick to Hanzo’s. “Can’t say I’ve seen ink that impressive.”

Hanzo smirks, and this time it’s something different. It isn’t a threat, and when Hanzo’s eyes slowly rake down his body, Jesse gets the hint, making a point to let Hanzo _know_ what he’s doing by spreading his legs slightly. Jesse catches the brief widening of Hanzo’s eyes before they snap to meet his. “How about we find somewhere more comfortable to continue this discussion?”

With a nod, Jesse pockets his phone, drinks the rest of the sake and stands. He follows behind Hanzo, and for the first time he can properly take in the man before him. Jesse knows from Hanzo’s bio that he is dangerous. Possibly the most dangerous person Jesse’s had the pleasure of sharing company with.

Though he can’t help but stare at his figure. He eyes the way Hanzo’s shirt and waistcoat hug his biceps and torso, how his broad shoulders taper off into a narrow waist. Jesse thinks Hanzo’d be able to kill him with those thighs alone, given how his trousers do nothing to hide them, or how they perfectly capture the curve of his ass.

Jesse’s drawn from his thoughts when Hanzo stops in front of the elevator. With fluid movements, he presses the up button, rolls his neck from side to side before rolling his shoulders. Although he is clearly tense—his posture is straight, rigid. In that moment, Jesse notices that Hanzo is, in fact, shorter than him, which is a surprise given how he carries himself.

As Hanzo completely loosens his tie, leaving the fabric to hang around his neck, he unbuttons a further two buttons of his shirt up to his waistcoat. Jesse catches the barest hint of the tattoo on his chest, then notices his plush pecs. He can’t help himself as he licks his lips, his eyes trail down his front to look at his crotch before moving to truly catch the curve of his ass in those trousers.

The elevator _dings_ and Jesse tears his eyes from Hanzo. He follows Hanzo inside, watching as he swipes a card to the reader and selects the top floor. The ride in the elevator is...tense, if Jesse had to pick a word. Jesse doesn’t dare look at Hanzo, nor Hanzo at him. Neither of them speak, and for the first time in his life, Jesse can say he’s speechless.

But thankfully, before the silence stretches too long, before Gabe breaks radio silence again and prompts Jesse, the elevator doors open. Stepping out, Jesse looks down the length of the short corridor in both directions, seeing two rooms at opposite ends. He follows Hanzo to the right of the elevator, where Hanzo swipes his card on another reader, beeping twice before unlocking with a _click_.

The lights to the room illuminate and Jesse takes a moment to take in his surroundings. A kitchen is situated to the left of the room, a dining area with a glass-top dining table and plush looking black leather couches inhabit the rest of the large space, overlooking an amazing view of the Tokyo skyline. There are several closed doors, bedrooms and bathrooms no doubt, but this entire space is way too large for one person, especially when Jesse is used to sharing a space as large as this living room with ten people.

Sighing, Jesse looks back at Hanzo as he reaches for the cupboards above the bench in the kitchen, stretching his body in a somewhat delicious way, causing his ass to jut out. Jesse takes a seat on the couch, sinking into it as Hanzo retrieves two wine glasses, holding them in one hand as he opens the pantry with the other, grabbing a bottle of red wine. He closes the door with his foot and takes a seat opposite Jesse, placing the glasses on the coffee table before opening the bottle of wine. Pouring both glasses to halfway, Hanzo sets the bottle on the table and slides a glass over.

“Thanks,” Jesse says, taking the glass. He holds it out in a silent toast before taking a sip. “Wow,” Jesse says, smacking his lips and going in for another sip. “Haven’t had red wine as nice as this.”

“Does life as a journalist not pay well?” Hanzo asks, smirking.

“Freelance? Naw, not really.” He’s certain Blackwatch pays even less than that. “Even then, bourbon’s my poison. Don’t really indulge in red wine.”

“I prefer wine when I have had a stressful day,” Hanzo sighs, holding the glass up and twirling it in his hand, as if analysing it. “Sometimes sake is not enough.”

Jesse hums, taking another sip. “I hear you.” He looks at Hanzo, giving him the opportunity to expand on that, mostly ‘cause he doesn’t want to come across too hard. But with a beat of silence, Jesse strikes, asking, “Anything you want to talk about?”

Hanzo’s eyes meet Jesse’s, and he stares Jesse down. Not breaking eye contact, it’s Hanzo who makes the first move, placing his glass on the table, standing up and taking a seat next to Jesse. “I would be lying if I said I brought you up here to talk,” Hanzo says, voice low and husky.

Jesse raises an eyebrow when Hanzo places his hand on his thigh, kneading the muscle. He can’t help but smirk, resting an arm on the back of the couch and turning to face him slightly. “What did you have in mind, then?”

“I think we both know what you have in mind.” The hand on Jesse’s thigh slides upwards and Jesse spreads his legs wider, but before it reaches his crotch, Hanzo strikes like a snake, cupping his face and holding his jaw tightly. “You think I did not notice the wink, the way you drew my attention to your groin, the way you spread your legs for me both downstairs and here, now?” His eyes rake up and down Jesse’s body again, smirk teasing his lips. “So eager.”

_“Christ, Jesse!”_

“Can’t blame me,” Jesse breathes, studying Hanzo’s face. He’s never met anyone who can look so hot with a killer look in his eye. And now, he’s starting to wonder if he’s got a dormant power play kink that’s rearing its head, given how tight his trousers are now. “You’re hot.”

Chuckling, Hanzo relinquishes his grip and reaches for his wine on the table. In that moment while Hanzo’s back is turned, Jesse presses his pinky finger into his ear, deactivating the comms. Though still on his person so his vitals can be tracked, it’s just that Jesse won’t hear Gabe, and vice-versa. The last thing he needs is Gabe _hearing_ him have sex, or worse, a running commentary of Gabe in his ear ‘cause apparently radio silence don’t mean a damn thing to him.

“Is it always a practice of yours to sleep with the subjects of your articles?” Hanzo asks as he settles back into the couch, taking a sip of wine.

“Can’t say it is.”

“Just me?”

“Ain’t my intention to sleep with you,” Jesse lies. He’s got a throbbing boner that says otherwise. “Well… It wasn’t…”

That deadly look returns to Hanzo’s eyes, makes Jesse’s cock twitch something shocking. Before Jesse can even blink, Hanzo is in his lap, hand tangled in his hair, his head pulled back. “Do you always wear _this_?” Hanzo asks, running his thumb along the brim of the hat.

“Most of the time. Santa Fe born and raised.”

“And this?” Hanzo asks, thumbing his bolo tie.

“Not usually,” Jesse answers, watching Hanzo study the plain silver medallion with the set in oval turquoise stone. “Family heirloom. I tend to save it for special occasions.”

Actually not a lie this time. The tie is one of a small handful of items he has from his life prior to Deadlock.

Hanzo’s eyes flick to Jesse’s and he pulls it down slowly. With surprisingly gentle hands, he lifts Jesse’s collar, takes off his hat and places that on the couch beside them before sliding the tie over his head. “We would not want to damage this then, would we?” Hanzo says, sliding one hand onto the back of Jesse’s neck and leaning back to place it on the coffee table.

“And I’m mighty appreciative of that,” Jesse drawls.

As if a switch is flipped, Hanzo cups his face and rushes in, pressing his mouth to Jesse's in a heated kiss. He pants, licks the space between Jesse’s lips in an effort to get them open and boy, does Jesse open them. He’s not surprised at how eager Hanzo is, considering he’s now convinced it _was_ Hanzo who Genji was alluding to. Hanzo is equal parts forceful and explorative with his tongue, even though after a moment, each lick, each slide against his own feels more natural with each passing second.

Pulling away for air, Jesse inhales sharply as he kisses along Hanzo’s jawline, his neck, over his throat and onto his chest. His skin tastes slightly salty from sweat, he has a subtle natural musk which is starting to overpower the fading cologne on his clothes.

Hanzo arches his back, pushing his chest into Jesse’s and grinding down into Jesse’s lap. Jesse groans, his hands fall down Hanzo’s hips to encourage the grinding, the tantalising friction from above. A small chuckle bubbles from Hanzo, sounding a bit too much on the smug side, so Jesse repays that by grazing his teeth along Hanzo’s collarbone. That simmers him down a bit after the shudder, and Jesse looks up at him, seeing dark eyes looking back.

Then, the grinding turns less forceful and becomes more experimental. Hanzo twists his hips slightly on each undulation, sending a shiver down Jesse’s spine. Jesse kisses Hanzo’s chest again, and with each minute movement Hanzo makes, Jesse loses the ability to control the kisses and they turn into licks and sucks against his skin. The taste of salt practically explodes on his tongue and leaves him wanting more.

He slides his left hand over Hanzo’s hip and rests it on his bulge, feeling his erection and the heat coming off it. He palms Hanzo through his trousers and smirks when there’s another groan, another shudder from Hanzo. Now Jesse’s starting to figure the man out. He pulls away from him enough to look into his eyes as he unbuttons his pants, and when he’s lowering the zipper pull, Hanzo’s eyes widen and he takes in a stuttering breath.

Jesse pushes on Hanzo’s hips, a hint for him to stand up. He expected an arched eyebrow, a fight even, he almost _wanted_ a fight just to get off on that power imbalance but Hanzo complies, perhaps a little too eager, which is fine for Jesse ‘cause the second Hanzo’s off him, Jesse’s sliding down Hanzo’s pants and underwear enough to get his cock free, bouncing from its constraints.

That’s when he notices Hanzo’s right thigh is home to another tattoo, this one has what Jesse assumes is a dragon’s tail fanning along his hip. Fuck, now he can’t wait to see the man naked.

Looking back at Hanzo’s dick, Jesse licks his lips and looks up at him, smirking when he can hear the ragged exhale as Jesse takes him in his hand. He pulls, slow and languid before leaning in and licking from base to tip. Licking over his slit and tasting the salty-bitter taste of precome, Jesse takes him in his mouth, swirling around the glans with his tongue to rile him up before sliding up and down, hand wrapped around the base and tugging in time with his sucking.

Jesse feels Hanzo’s hand on his head, grabbing a handful of his hair. The grip tightens and Hanzo pushes on his head, encouraging him to go faster. Any other circumstance and he’d stop and make a point on how he don’t get told how to do things, but now, Hanzo could ask Jesse to lick his boots and he’d probably do it.

When Jesse feels Hanzo’s other hand cup his head, he knows what comes next. He braces himself, placing both hands on Hanzo’s waist as Hanzo rocks his hips. Jesse lets it happen, breathes in through his nose and swallows the spit and precome before he chokes on it. When he feels the head of Hanzo’s dick on his soft palate, he relaxes his throat muscles and on Hanzo’s next thrust, he pushes forward until his nose is pressed against Hanzo’s skin.

Hanzo moans, stays still for a moment before he holds Jesse’s head tighter. To Jesse’s surprise though, he doesn’t push all the way on the next thrust, just continues the same pace from earlier.

Jesse slides his hands down and onto Hanzo’s ass, feeling the toned muscle underneath. His cock strains uncomfortably in his pants, a part of him wants to take it in his hand, get told off for doing it; another part wants to wait for Hanzo to say something.

Jesse’s never this indecisive in the bedroom. Fuck, Hanzo has him messed up proper.

Not that it really matters, it’s all decided for him when Hanzo stops moving. Jesse looks up at Hanzo, comes off him with a slurp before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Hanzo merely smirks, pulls up his trousers and walks into one of the rooms.

“And bring the hat,” Hanzo calls out.

Jesse can't suppress the grin as he picks the hat off the couch and places it on his head. He follows Hanzo, entering a bedroom—a large room, king sized bed in the centre, a couple armchairs facing the floor-to-ceiling windows with a balcony and the same view of the Tokyo skyline as the living room. Hanzo walks up to the nightstand, opening the drawer and pulling out a bottle of lube, placing it on top. He turns, takes himself in his hand and that devilish smirk returns.

“Strip.”

Another shiver runs down Jesse’s spine, sparking in his core. He takes his time getting undressed, though; shouldering off his jacket first and draping it over the back of the chair. Then he unbuttons his shirt slowly, getting off on how Hanzo’s eyes flicker with excitement with each button undone, how he licks his lips in anticipation.

Shrugging off the shirt, he folds it haphazardly and tosses it on top of the jacket. He toes off his boots and peels off his socks next, placing them against the wall neatly. Then, he takes a quick moment to stand there in nothing but his pants and hat. Hands resting on his belt buckle, he grins when Hanzo bites his lip and strokes himself while staring at Jesse’s bulge.

Shifting his weight onto the other foot, Jesse continues on, starting with unclasping his belt buckle. He leaves the belt in his pants, immediately moving on to unbuttoning and unzipping his them. Tucking his thumbs into the band of his underwear, he slips the both of them down, watching as Hanzo practically fucking drools while staring at his dick. Jesse takes himself in his hand, pulls languidly and a spark of pleasure courses through him.

Hanzo sits on the bed, cock in his hand. To Jesse's slight disappointment, it seems he’s intent on remaining clothed in this encounter. Hanzo doesn’t say anything, merely flicks his head in a ‘come here’ motion and without thought, without hesitation, Jesse’s standing in front of him, the bottle of lube is pressed into his hand and Hanzo’s lips are wrapped around his dick.

Jesse practically melts, and slaps his free hand on Hanzo’s shoulder to stop from actually falling to the ground. To say it’s been a while is an understatement; he doesn’t get many off nights to stalk the local bars and clubs for a one night stand. When Hanzo flicks his tongue along Jesse’s slit, he groans, then digs his fingernails into Hanzo’s shoulder, just as something else to focus on before he comes right here, right now.

Taking a breath, he focuses on Hanzo, the way he slides up and down on his cock, how he’s matched his own tugging with his sucking. Hanzo’s eyes meet his, and he pulls back slowly, dragging the tip of his tongue along the underside of his dick before coming off completely. His hand remains, continuing his languid pulls while using spit as lubrication, and once again, he doesn’t say anything, merely makes a point to stare at the lube in Jesse’s hand before flicking his eyes back up, a subtle frown teasing his features.

Jesse gets the hint. _Prepare yourself_ ; he can practically hear Hanzo say it aloud. He relinquishes his grip on Hanzo's shoulder cautiously, flicks the cap of the lube, pours some on his fingers. Closing the cap and tossing it to the bed, Jesse places a steadying hand back on Hanzo’s shoulder, reaching around and teasing himself open with a finger. He shudders, a response from the coldness of the lube and the warmness of Hanzo’s mouth back around his dick.

Doing the best he can with this angle, which honestly isn’t that great, and after piss-poorly scissoring, he decides three fingers are the way to go. He closes his eyes and hangs his head low, focusing on sensations that don’t involve imagining the feeling of come filling Hanzo’s mouth. Instead, he notes the silky smooth feeling of Hanzo’s suit underneath his fingertips, how easily they glide across the fabric. It’s a good thing Gabe talked him into a manicure before the mission, he’d imagine his usual chipped nails pulling a thread on what Jesse imagines to be a several thousand dollar suit.

Jesse groans and shudders when Hanzo runs the flat of his tongue along his slit. He looks down, seeing Hanzo come off his dick again, kissing the head before pulling away.

“Hands and knees.”

With a nod, and resisting the urge to answer with a ‘yes, sir’, Jesse pulls out his fingers and climbs onto the bed, knees resting close to the edge. Hanzo places his hand between Jesse’s shoulder blades; he holds still for a moment before sliding it down his back. A gentle touch combined with a roughness of his fingertips, something that catches him by surprise given the man is clearly the kind who doesn’t get his hands dirty. Well… he probably enjoys getting his hands dirty if it involves taking someone’s life. Preparing someone for sex, apparently not—

Jesse groans when he feels Hanzo push in. At least Hanzo’s taking it slowly. Jesse grabs fistfuls of the duvet, exhaling slowly with each inch Hanzo pushes in until he feels Hanzo’s hips against his ass. He sets a slow pace to start, Jesse finds himself humming, occasionally punctuated with a grunt or moan when Hanzo gets the right angle.

On instinct, Jesse rolls his hips, meeting Hanzo’s thrusts; a subconscious effort to let Hanzo know that he can take more. He’s met with a steadying hand on the small of his back, stopping him.

“Would you like it harder?” Hanzo asks, practically a purr.

“Yes, I can take it.” Jesse looks over his shoulder, smirking, “Somethin’ tells me you’re not usually this gentle.”

There’s a brief moment of calm where Hanzo stops moving completely. That dangerous look in his eyes returns as he feels Hanzo pull out slowly. Jesse thinks he’s done it now, that he’s pushed him over the edge and he’s gonna murder him for implying he’s weak.

Not that Jesse would care; at least he’d die happy.

The moan that escapes Jesse’s lips is equal parts guttural and pleasurable. He practically falls flat on the bed from the sheer force, and would have if Hanzo didn’t have an iron grip on his hips. Jesse tries to adjust, but Hanzo pounds him relentlessly, the sound of skin slapping against skin just about covers his own moans, groans and whimpers. Hanzo himself doesn’t seem to make any noise, and if Jesse had a chance, he’d look back just to see his face; almost imagining that he’d be grinning and very fucking pleased with himself.

Just as Jesse manages to prop himself back onto his hands, he feels the predictable, almost perfectly timed to the second thrusting stuttering slightly. In that brief moment of calm, Jesse hears that Hanzo’s breathing is ragged, that he’s almost growling. Jesse shudders when he feels Hanzo’s hand wrap around his dick, and he tightens his grip on the blanket. The other hand on Jesse’s hip moves up his back, tangling in his hair and pulling back hard.

The combination of sensations—the pounding against his prostate, the tugging, the burn on his scalp—sends him over the edge. His back arches, he tightens around Hanzo and that’s when he hears Hanzo, cussin’ in Japanese as his thrusts shallow before eventually stopping.

The second Hanzo loosens the grip on his hair, Jesse falls onto his forearms, rests his head on his closed fists. He groans when Hanzo pulls out, and he rolls to his side, his hat rolling off his head as he takes himself in his hand to milk the rest of his come. Looking from the puddle soaking into the white duvet to Hanzo as he walks around the bed and into an adjoining bathroom, Jesse chuckles. That fuck was about as good as he’d imagined.

Jesse hears the toilet flush, sees Hanzo walk back out of the room. He sits on the bed, pats Jesse’s hair and Jesse looks up at him. Any trace of the hard, deadly look in his eyes is completely gone, leaving a softness behind. Not that Jesse would say that to Hanzo in any way, shape or form.

“Please, stay the night. I…” Hanzo looks out to the balcony, eyes becoming unfocused for a moment before he shakes his head and looks back at Jesse, an actual smile teasing the corners of his lips. “Tonight has been difficult. I do not wish to be alone.”

Jesse props himself up on his elbow, grabs Hanzo’s hand and kisses his knuckles. “Sure thing, sweetness. I gotta pee, but meet you back in bed?”

Hanzo nods, and Jesse gets up and enters the bathroom. White marble tile, black matte taps and fixtures, it’s all a level of extravagant he’d expect from a Shimada owned hotel. He stands in front of the toilet, does another seemingly unending piss, and when he’s done he stretches his arms over his head, cracking his back and shoulders. He shakes out his hands before washing them and splashing his face with water, drying on the hand towel.

Taking a breath, he turns and listens, and when he can’t hear or see Hanzo, he sticks his finger in his ear, reactivating his comms.

_“McCree? Can you talk?”_

Jesse coughs, telling Gabe no, he can’t talk. He does note that Gabe has instead used his last name in place of his first, or even _Jessito_ ; Gabe must be pissed. Jesse’ll deal with that in the morning.

Jesse enters the bedroom, first looking at the empty bed, then at Hanzo on the balcony, smoking. Jesse picks up his underwear and pants, sliding them on but not doing up the zip or button on his pants, and joining Hanzo outside. That’s when Jesse notices that Hanzo isn’t smoking a cigarette, but one of his cigarillos. Jesse looks at it between Hanzo’s fingers, following it up to Hanzo’s mouth and watching as those lips wrap around the butt of the cigarillo, and he makes _that_ look sexier than his lips around Jesse’s actual dick—and Jesse _saw_ that.

“I hope you do not mind,” Hanzo says before exhaling the smoke. He hands the cigarillo over, and Jesse takes it cautiously. Why he’s so cautious, fuck knows. He should be pissed that Hanzo rifled through his stuff, not about ready to apologise or _thank_ him. “I noticed the lingering smell of smoke on your clothes and skin, and found a tin in your jacket pocket.”

“S’all right,” Jesse says, taking a drag from the cigarillo. He looks at Hanzo as he exhales, noticing that he’s completely unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt, showing off those glorious abs he didn’t realise were there. “Didn’t think you smoked. Couldn’t smell it on you.”

“I do not,” Hanzo answers, falling against the wall. Resting on just his shoulders, it seems, if the way his shirt falls from his sides is any indication, and with his back arched the way it is, his hip bones jut out. Jesse feels another spark of arousal in his core as he imagines himself licking and grazing his teeth along them. Especially the tattooed one. “I indulge when I am stressed.”

Jesse takes another drag from the cigarillo and hands it back to Hanzo, exhaling from the corner of his mouth. “Anythin’ you wanna talk about? You keep mentioning it. Maybe gettin’ it off your chest might help?”

Hanzo’s eyes flicker from the cigarillo to Jesse as he brings it up to his mouth. “I suppose. The alcohol, the sex and the cigar have done nothing to ease my mind.”

Jesse takes a breath and holds it when he hears a snort from the comms, and has to bite his tongue from scolding Gabe. But with bruised pride, Jesse asks, “Aw, come on now, I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

Hanzo smirks, taking a quick drag. “It just means that I have not had my fill,” he purrs, winking and exhaling the smoke.

Well, that spark in his core is now a fully-fledged fire. He should’ve gone to the effort to do up his pants, cause now there’ll no hiding the boner that he’s surely about to get.

“I was approached by an acquaintance of my father’s. He wished for me, my companies, to merge with them.” Hanzo looks at the cigarillo between his fingers, brings it in front of him as he stares at the glowing tip. “My father warned me about him, his organisation. They are without honour, turning to petty crimes and violence in an effort to unite people,” Hanzo continues, vitriol dripping off every word. “He turned them down on several occasions, saying his goals did not match theirs.” He takes a drag from the cigarillo.

Jesse nods, waiting for Hanzo to exhale the smoke. “I assume you turned them down, too?”

Eyes snapping to meet Jesse’s, Hanzo merely gives a single nod. “I am sure it will not be the last time they approach me.”

“You ever goin’ to give in?”

Hanzo stalks forward, places a hand on Jesse’s chest and walks him up to the wall. Jesse lands against the cool render with a thud, and not for the first time, where terror should strike, arousal is in its place.

Hanzo’s hand curls around the back of Jesse’s neck and the man stands on his toes, face to face with Jesse, barely an inch of space between them. “For as long as I live, I will never bow down to _anyone._ ”

While maintaining eye contact, Hanzo turns his head, takes a drag from the cigarillo and faces Jesse again. Hanzo looks at his lips before he moves in slowly, their lips just graze together and Jesse parts his as he feels Hanzo’s exhale, the combination of smoke and Hanzo’s air is dizzying, euphoric. Jesse brings his hands up to Hanzo’s waist just to keep from falling into a boneless puddle, pulling him in close and in that moment feels Hanzo's erection against his thigh.

“I am done with this conversation,” Hanzo says, voice low and husky as he takes a step back, dragging his hand down Jesse’s stomach and onto his crotch, palming his erection. A smirk teases Hanzo's lips as he says, “And it seems you are, too.” Hanzo takes one last drag from the cigarillo, drops it to the ground and crushes it underfoot before walking inside, taking off his shirt and waistcoat, draping them on the arm of the chair as he passes.

Jesse grins, hearing an almost desperate, _“McCree, so help me if you deactivate—”_ before turning off his comms again and heading back inside. The mission is complete, and he’ll deal with Reyes in the morning.

Now, he’ll enjoy the man who has him wrapped around his little finger.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, this is a work of fiction, practice safe oral and penetrative sex irl, folks.
> 
> I toyed with the skin slightly, opting to keep Hanzo's hair long. I HC that Hanzo cut his hair post-Genji's incident, so using his short hair as depicted in the fic seemed a little off. (The snippet I posted on the tumbls which had Hanzo with his short hair was before I decided when this would take place. That paragraph was literally the first thing I wrote.)
> 
> So when I looked up Japanese wrestling to add to the fic, [I found this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6UK-mo-aXGU&feature=youtu.be&t=41) and decided I needed to use it. No ifs, ands or buts about it.
> 
> Also! I'm on the [tumbls](https://chilliebean5.tumblr.com/) where I post snippets of wips occasionally! Come say hi!


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